“Shadowed by tragedy and burdened by amnesia, a beautiful woman desperately tries to return to reality. She is Catherine Douglas, destined to once again challenge the cruel, charismatic power of Constantin Demiris, the Greek shipping tycoon who murdered Catherine’s husband. Now, in the glittering capitals and carefree playgrounds of post-war Europe, Demiris sets his deadly sights on Catherine - and the single, treacherous secret whose shattering truth is known to her alone.”
(synopsis on the back cover of his novel,
“Memories of Midnight”)
Catherine, beautiful, but desperate to return to reality, sat near the beach in an uncomfortable chair, directly facing her nemesis, Contantin Demiris, the Greek shipping tycoon, whose chair was infinitely more comfortable. There was utter silence, but then no more, because there was talking.
“I’ll never forget that time I killed your husband,” Constantin said with a devilish grin.
“You what?” said Catherine, a perplexed look painted across her face.
“I killed you husband. You don’t remember?”
“No, I’m sorry, I really don’t. I’ve got a slight case of the amnesia.”
“Oh, I see.”
Catherine walked along the cobblestone streets, arm in arm with her new love, Giovanni Ferreli, the Italian moe-hair sweater tycoon. Periodically, they would stop to stare deeply into one another’s eyes, or to receive or distribute a passionate kiss. Then they would resume walking. About a half-mile and three dozen stops later, they turned a corner and came upon a small, abandoned playground.
Catherine spoke with utter delight, “Oh, what a carefree playground here in post-war Europe!”
Giovanni emitted a brisk laugh, “Ha Ha!” he said, “if you think our carefree playgrounds are so wonderful, you should see our glittering capitals!”
Daggers drawn and made ready for combat, Constantin demanded, “And how is your health? Your amnesia in particular?”
Catherine readied herself, judging his every movement. “I’m feeling okay, health-wise, but still having trouble remembering a lot. Now you’re sure it was my husband you’d murdered?”
Catherine shook her head. “I just don’t remember that.”
“It’s a shame, it was really quite brutal.”
He inched forward just slightly, forcing her back, closer to the ledge of the cliff. She looked quickly over the edge, seeing from the corner of her eye Giovanni’s crumpled body lying motionless at the base of the steep mountain.
“Now,” Constantin said with a great, forceful hostility, “you must tell me the single, treacherous secret whose shattering truth is known only to you!”
“Never!” screamed Catherine, gauging how much room she had to move before she would plunge to her death like her beloved Giovanni.
He pointed the cocked pistol at her heart, preparing to fire immediately, but suddenly, something stopped him. “Wait, do you even remember what the single treacherous secret is?”
“Not really, no.”
“Oh,” he said, lowering the pistol.
“I’m assuming it has to do with that dead husband thing.”
“Probably, yes. But you say you really don’t remember, I mean, at all?”
“Well, then,” Constantin said, a smile inching across his face, “then I guess this whole nonsense is sort of pointless, me chasing you and all. Sorry about killing your boyfriend.”
She smiled. “Forgotten.”
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